Vale Dicere
by museme87
Summary: With each passing day, the wizarding world falls further under the Dark Lord's influence. As James comes to terms with the devastating changes in his life, Lily struggles to survive in a society that has all but failed her. Sequel to Muggle Studies.


**Pairing(s):** Lily/James (with background Remus/Sirius)  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17 (eventually)  
><strong>Summary:<strong> [ Sequel to _Muggle Studies_] With each passing day, the wizarding world falls further under the Dark Lord's influence, and it is this world that James and Lily must prepare themselves for. But first, they have to make it through their seventh year, a task that proves daunting in its own right. As James struggles to come to terms with the devastating changes in his life, Lily struggles to survive in a society that has all but failed her.

**Chapter:** [ 1 ] A Parting of the Ways  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 8,119  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> strong language, mention of death and past non-con  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So this is it—the sequel to _Muggle Studies_ that I've been carrying on about and promising for ages! The title of this piece was inspired by Donne's _A Valediction Forbidding Mourning_, which is quite possibly one of the most beautiful love poems ever. But if nothing else, definitely wins the prize for Sexiest Use of a Mathematical Compass in a Love Poem.

I'd like to thank C for all her help in the beta process. Additionally, a huge thank you to L for everything that she does—betaing, listening to my ideas, and supporting just about everything I do! This is all for you, bb!

* * *

><p>...<p>

_**Thy firmness makes my circle just**  
><strong>And makes me end where I begun<strong>  
>-John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning<em>

...

* * *

><p><strong>1. A Parting of the Ways<strong>

It's halfway through dinner—when her cheeks ache from smiling and her laughter rings hollow—that Lily realizes she'll never be able to live in the Muggle world again. And it's not a decision, but a fact as certain as her name, as the date of her birth, as her skin freckling under the sunshine. She can't go on like this.

Not when being _normal_means being forced by wizarding law to deny a part of herself, not when it means decades of sitting silently as her sister rewrites the past six years of her life into scandal and delinquency. There is no compromise for her, no options save for one—stay or leave.

With that knowledge, a sudden panic seizes her, and she can't be here any longer, can't smile and laugh and _pretend_ anymore. She may not have anywhere to go—the Express doesn't leave for a few more days—but she can't _stay_. And—right in the middle of some horribly racist joke told by Vernon Dursley's father—Lily cannot resist the urge to escape.

She shifts abruptly, her sudden movement cutting off Mr. Dursley's punch line and drawing all attention to herself. Before she can manage to stand up fully, her knee makes painful contact with the table, making the dinnerware rattle and wine slosh in the goblets. Marge Dursley's drink splashes down her front, but Lily can't bring herself to apologize. She's far too busy scrambling for the kitchen door, overwhelmed by the feeling of suffocation.

"Lily, dear!" her mother calls with a note of concern.

"I think I might be sick."

And that much is the truth, though not for the reasons that Marge—with her subtle commentary on "sudden bouts of sickness" and "particular kinds of women with certain proclivities"—might think. Because the unpleasant rolling of her stomach has nothing to do with that and everything to do with the fact that she'd decided a month ago that she was never returning to the wizarding world. Not after what happened to her, despite how she misses magic. Never again.

That was before she'd felt like a stranger in her own home, though. Before Hogwarts had been crafted into a boarding school for troubled young ladies when her parents were out of earshot. Before all the magic in her life had been reduced to baseness by an angry sister's desire to feel superior.

Lily could have never imagined the story the wizarding world would write for her. If she had—if she had truly understood that she would have to give up a family, a beloved sister, a familiar life—she may have never gone. The price she's paid seems far too steep, even if it was for a life in a world out of a storybook.

But the fact of the matter is that she _had_gone. Now the wizarding world is her only refuge—a home for an orphaned girl that the Muggle world left behind—but it doesn't want her either. Who the hell is she trying to convince? It was a stupid idea to think she, a grown woman, might be able to step back into the shoes of an eleven year old child. As long as magic sings in her blood, weaves itself into her being, she'll never be able to escape this destiny she unknowingly chose for herself years ago.

_Though knowing that doesn't make life any easier_, she thinks as she leans against the sink in the dimly lit kitchen. Lily tries to still her racing mind, to take normal breaths despite the fact that she feels as if she's hyperventilating. Her arms wind themselves around her middle unconsciously, her eyes fixed on her sandaled feet.

The sound of silverware scrapping and dinging against china is all she hears, as if it's happening right next to her; it makes her head throb. She waits for the sound of a chair scuffing against the floor, hoping against all reason that her mother would sense her plight in a way that only mothers can and wrap her up in a warm embrace that makes her feel like five years old again.

Not more than moments after she wants it, though, Lily tries to shake the need off. She can't cling like this, not to an existence that's failed her miserably. Or that _she's_somehow failed on her own. Maybe her sister is right. Maybe she really doesn't know how to be normal.

The thought of Petunia takes her back into the dining room with those awful people, and Lily can't bear it. Slipping into the utility room, she grabs her house keys from the line of hooks on the wall, nearly tripping over a pair of Wellingtons in the process. Lily quickly slings her bag over her shoulder, drops her keys in the side pocket, and reaches for the door in a rush.

It closes a little too loudly for her own good, but whether her family and the Dursleys know she's left is beyond her concern at the moment. Let Petunia contrive a story for them in light of her absence; her sister won't mind one bit.

She's in the middle of the garden before she turns around to look at her house, pausing as if it's the last time she'll ever set eyes on it. And for all that she may have decided to leave, Lily knows she'll have to come back for just a few days before the start of term. All the same, her hearts feels a sense of finality to this moment—the last moment, she supposes, that she'll ever look upon this house as her rightful home. When a shadow moves in front of the dining room window—a slight form that must be her mother's—Lily sniffs back any unwanted emotions and fishes her wand from her bag. In an instant, she's gone with a _crack_.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

This isn't the Alley.

When Lily Apparates to the spot just beyond the Leaky, when her eyes find their focus, her brow furrows deeply. She grabs onto a nearby stack of wooden crates, feeling a sudden light-headedness overcome her. And part of it's to do with Apparition, but there's also the initial shock of seeing Diagon Alley like this—barren and shadowed—that leaves her stunned and speechless.

For a long while she lingers unmoving, unable to look away from this catastrophe despite how badly she wants to. She blinks slowly as if her eyes are playing tricks on her, as if the colorfully painted shops and brilliant sidewalk displays of her girlhood will bleed into reality. But they don't, and Lily doesn't know what to make of it.

She hasn't been back to the Alley since last summer, and—as she begins to shuffle down the cobblestone street in an almost daze—that seems like a lifetime ago. She was a different girl back then. Bitter, but not yet jaded. Cautious, but not yet fearful. So much has changed for the wizarding world in twelve short months, but she could have never imagined it falling so far from the fairytale she remembers. And since she'd decided to leave her life as a witch behind, to cut off all contact with the magical world, the state of things seemed only to worsen.

A piece of parchment catches on her sandals as she walks passed the cauldron shop. Just as she's about to kick it free, Lily notices the image of a young woman there. It grabs her attention immediately. Smoothing the crinkled paper, she reads the word _MISSING_—letters large, bold, and handwritten—above the picture. Beneath it, Lily finds the woman's information.

Her name is Dolanna Nasmyth, and she was last seen nearly a month ago.

Lily can't move her attention beyond the young woman for some time, her eyes fixed on warm skin and a beautiful smile. It's only after the_clang_ of metal in a nearby alleyway startles her that she realizes the picture of this woman is not moving. Her heart sinks when she sees the telephone number at the bottom of the parchment with the plea of, _please let us know if you've seen our daughter_. And for once, Lily does not pride herself on being correct in her assumptions. Not when it means that this missing woman is a Muggle-born; that out there somewhere are Muggle parents trying desperately to navigate the wizarding world to find their missing child. Instinct tells her that the Ministry—if it had been as helpful to Dolanna as it had been to her in light of Mulciber's attack—likely doesn't give a damn.

If for that reason alone, Lily returns to the shifting wall of the Leaky. She pulls her wand from her bag, and with a swish, adheres the parchment to the brick with a sticking charm. Her fingers trail along Dolanna's cheek, lingering there for a moment. Because somehow they are sisters in this fight; Muggle-borns—forgotten by the Ministry, perhaps now more than ever, and resented more each day.

She wonders how many more Dolanna Nasmyths are out there—the unnamed, the forgotten—but can't bear the thought of it for too long. Lily steps back from the parchment, forces her eyes away never to look back.

.

It feels as if takes ages to get to Madam Malkin's, and Lily attributes this to the unlit, empty, or boarded up display windows of the shops along the way. There's nothing to draw her attention away from the walk, from the eerie shroud laying low on the Alley. And if such a thing were possible, the part in the road that leads to Knockturn Alley seems even more foreboding.

"'ello there, gorgeous. Give you a shiny Galleon if you follow me," a toothless and mangy old man propositions, leaning against the half-shadowed wall of Knockturn Alley's first shop. "I'll make it worth your while."

Her skin crawls at his leer, at the suggestive gesture he makes towards her. He has the look of someone who has been on the Dark Arts for too long—sunken eyes, withered skin, and a particular darkening around the lips. Lily tries to make herself smaller and quickens her pace, praying to God that he doesn't try to follow her. She wishes she hadn't put her wand away and mentally works over the necessary wandwork for a Snare Charm. Thankfully, she doesn't have to use it.

But her trip this far down the Alley ends in vain when she arrives in front of Madam Malkin's. A large sign hangs on the door with _CLOSED_written across it in bold, orange lettering. The timetable behind a glass box next to the door has today's closing set for eight o'clock, and it's only just half-six, according to the towering clock in the Alley center in front of Gringotts. Lily has no idea what's going on.

She wanders around the surrounding area, seeking out anyone who might be able to tell her why Madam Malkin has closed the shop early. Her curiosity at this point has less to do with her desire to pick up a few new robes for school and more with her desperation to know what's happened. Lily has known Madam Malkin for six years, has shopped at her store on innumerable occasions; she isn't the type of witch to leave it outside its designated hours.

Just as she's about to slip into the apothecary for a few potion ingredients and to subtly seek out answers to her questions, she hears,

"Willow, unicorn hair, ten and one-quarter inch, swishy." Lily turns to see Mr. Ollivander just as he smiles. "Miss Lily Evans."

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander."

He is not alone. Next to him stands a man—perhaps in his late twenties—with a tall, lean build and very clear and curious eyes. They remind her of Ollivander's, and Lily can't help but feel like this must be his son. She's never seen him in the shop before—has never seen Mr. Ollivander _out_of the shop before, actually—and wonders what the occasion is. She doesn't ask though, and instead extends her hand to the younger man.

"Lily Evans."

"Markel Ollivander. The pleasure is all mine." He takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. "You've an affinity for Charms work, don't you, Miss Evans?"

She blinks, startled by the comment. "Yes, I've taken some private lessons with Professor Flitwick."

He nods knowingly and continues, "And you perform better than most with non-verbal spells, though you haven't much experience with it. You're insecure. But not simply in matters of magic."

"You're really good," Lily says, impressed. "All that from a wand?"

"All that and so much more, Miss Evans," Mr. Ollivander answers, his words echoing the knowledge in his grey-green eyes.

"Don't doubt yourself," Markel adds, grinning. "You're capable of very great things."

Lily feels her cheeks warm at the compliment. If he only knew her a little better, he wouldn't be saying such things. While she may be a talented witch—despite what the better part of the pure-blood population of Hogwarts might think—she's nothing exceptional. And not for the first time has Lily thought that she might not even have the opportunity to become anything more than just another Muggle-born. Given the state of things, she may be lucky to see the end of this war.

"I must confess that I'm rather surprised to see you," Mr. Ollivander says.

"Oh?"

"Mm, not too many Muggle-borns come around Diagon Alley, especially so late in the evening. It's just not safe anymore."

"Not safe?" she asks, though really she shouldn't be surprised. "What's happened? Diagon Alley looks so…different."

"People have been disappearing, Miss Evans. Some show up murdered and some never show up at all. I don't believe you'd be shocked to discover that many of them are Muggle-borns, but there have been a fair number of half-bloods as well. But regardless of your blood status, you never travel alone."

"Is the Ministry—"

"Fuck the Ministry," Markel says, snorting in disgust. "There are too many pure-bloods on the Wizengamot and in upper echelons of power for anything to be done about it. We're alone in this."

It's not exactly a revelation, but it worries Lily all the same. She has no idea what this will mean for her, for _anyone_ in the end. Maybe something can be done. Maybe it'll just take the right person standing up and saying _no_ to stop this before it gets out of control. But, maybe it _is_already out of control.

"You'd better run home, Miss Evans, before it gets dark. Unspeakable things happen then."

"And take this," Markel adds, rummaging in his satchel and pulling out a slip of parchment. "Some of the shopkeepers have put together an ordering program through the owl post. The list of shops is on this. You might want to look it over, considering."

Lily accepts the parchment from Markel and tucks it away in her bag. They part ways with uttered good lucks and stay safes. While the Ollivanders' warnings sound loudly in her mind, Lily can't bring herself to Apparate just yet. The sadness weighing heavy on her chest begins to stew with something akin to bitterness.

_How can people treat each other like this_, she wonders as she sits on the short, brick wall that surrounds the clock in the square. How can they just stand by while others go missing? It's cruel, inhumane. If the Ministry won't protect the Muggle-borns, the half-bloods, then who will?

And it's a stupid to think that maybe _she_ can make a difference in some small way. But, Lily wants to all the same. As she watches the sun set behind the Alley, she understands that this, too, is not about choices but plain facts. While she may not be able to save lives, she won't allow herself to simply watch as this world—_her_ world—falls victim to tyranny.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

That night, Lily gets home much later than she'd expected. After an unnecessarily long trip to the corner store, she'd gone to the park where she and Petunia used to play. Lily had got lost in her thoughts there, but—as she'd seen the worried look in her mother's eyes when she'd eventually slipped through the door—she wished she hadn't.

There was a lot of fuss being made about her, between her mum's concern over her health and her absence and Petunia's lamentations over how rude she'd been to the Dursleys. To placate her mother—and to annoy her sister—Lily sits next to her dad in the lounge to watch _Are You Being Served?_with her family. Since she doesn't dare do anything to alert her mother that something may be wrong, Lily spends the greater part of the episode trying to swallow her restless sighs. But when the it draws to a close, Lily can't possibly pretend any longer. She politely excuses herself with a muttered, "I'm knackered," and struggles to keep herself from sprinting up the stairs.

Once in her room, Lily shuts the door quickly behind her, spinning around to lean against it as if to barricade herself in. No one's followed her upstairs, she realizes, as she hears her dad's loud laughter carrying up the staircase along with whispers of her mum and Petunia's conversation. Her head hits the door with a _thud_, and she sighs her relief.

For good measure, Lily turns the lock into place, wanting nothing more than to remain uninterrupted for the rest of the evening. Padding across the room, she draws her frilly drapes closed and finally feels the comfort of solitude slip over her again.

Her hands fumble for the zip of her dress—the most ridiculous one in her wardrobe that Petunia insisted that she wear to meet the Dursleys. No doubt Petunia didn't want to be upstaged, but Lily wishes her sister would remember that she's nothing exceptional. More of a freckled monstrosity really, with the sun beating down on her all summer long as she helps her mum in the garden, as she plays footie in the back yard with her dad. She's lucky not to be _completely_coated in them, and Petunia is lucky to have not inherited this unfortunate Evans trait.

Lily finally manages to work her dress into submission and puts on an oversized, green nightshirt. Her bed looking particularly inviting, she wastes no time crawling into it. Lily doesn't even bother trying to go to sleep, though. Sleep will get her nowhere, her mind plagued by her decision however right it may be. Not knowing what to expect when she finally shuts her eyes only makes matters worse. Lily wonders if she'll see that missing girl from earlier, or any number of other unwelcome guests for that matter. She hopes not, but isn't stupid enough to think she'll sleep peacefully tonight.

And Lily isn't sure what makes her do it—though thoughts of restlessness always seem to lead her here—but she leans over the side of the bed all the same. It takes some fishing about, but she manages to find an old shoe box behind a sea of shirts and knickers, of sweet wrappers and various this-and-thats that she'd long thought missing. Lily brings the box to the bed and lays the battered—but treasured—thing on her stomach as she rolls onto her back.

She's had it for ages—years marked by the small and narrow shape of the cardboard that could have only held a very young girl's shoes. Lily doesn't recall when exactly she had adopted it as her place to hideaway keepsakes, but she does remember laboring over its decoration, fiddling with Christmas paper and ribbons, colorful pencils, and crudely cut out and pasted shapes. In reality, it's a hideous little work of art; however, the beauty of its contents prevents her from ever seeing it as anything short of brilliant. From white stones found by the river to a diary she kept when she was all of eight, from her very first love letter to photos of her friends—this box has seen it all.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip before Lily can bring herself to pull off the dilapidated lid. But when she does, she lifts out a small stack of parchment tied off with a yellow ribbon. Her fingers work nimbly at the bow until she's able to slip the topmost letter from the pile.

Lily doesn't need to be prompted by a single line to remember what it says; she's read it enough times since Athene delivered it nearly two weeks ago to memorize it. With her nail, she traces the loops and slants of her name, written in an almost feminine hand that belies its owner.

It's the last letter he sent, her reply left unanswered. And it seems so strange to be out of contact with him—and the fact that _that_is rather odd in itself is not missed—when she'd come to expect Athene every other day.

Flipping open the parchment despite herself, Lily pours over James' words—..._had a brilliant time_…_thrilled that I made Head Boy_…_so strange for her to be getting married, Lily_…_plan on Apparating to Pete's Tuesday_…_game of two-aside_…—yet there is nothing there to suggest anything was wrong. She can feel James' excitement and energy through his letter. If something had happened, surely he would have mentioned it. They are friends, after all.

A tiny part of Lily—one she both hates and tends to devotedly—thinks that she and James may be more than friends. A single kiss at the end of last term has been enough, up until now, to nourish her hope. She finds it waning though, a little more each day. Had he found someone else two weeks ago on holiday? No, that's ridiculous; she shouldn't be so insecure. They'd _kissed_, and—while they've never exactly qualified it—what little bit they had shared with one another made it perfectly clear that they had enjoyed it and wouldn't mind enjoying it again.

Still, it's sometimes difficult to keep that in mind with the knowledge that James hasn't responded to any of her subsequent letters either. Aspects of that are unsettling in an entirely different way. Lily hopes he's alright, that he just got caught up with his family and friends.

She folds the letter up with great care, pushing the issue from her mind. As she slips the letter back in with the others, Lily slowly exhales. She can't forget how she found Diagon Alley, can't ignore how bad things look, as much as she tries. But James is a pure-blood, she reminds herself. No matter the state of things, he'll be safe.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Mum says you're leaving for King's Cross tomorrow."

Lily whirls around from where she stands in front of the bed, startled by Petunia's otherwise silent approach. She shares a long look with her sister, and Lily fears what she makes out in Petunia's eyes, in the frown on her face. Anger maybe? But something more than that, too. Surprisingly not disgust, like Lily has come to expect time and again. It's almost as if Petunia's worried. And as soon as Lily thinks it, she pushes the thought from her mind; Petunia hasn't worried about her in ages.

"I am."

The fear in her own voice—the sudden spring of emotion—confuses her. She'd been perfectly fine telling her mum and dad about going back to school after she'd initially voiced her uncertainty in July. So why she should suddenly have sweaty palms when it comes to Petunia is beyond her at the moment.

When she sees Petunia's eyes widen at her response, hears her hard swallow, Lily can't help but swallow hard as well. She crosses her arms over her chest, wishing that she could just close in on herself. However, the hammering of her heart won't allow her the peace of mind to do it.

"… your hair looks hideous," Petunia says finally, face reddening by the second. "Don't you know how to plait it properly?"

Her sister swoops on her like some bird of prey, working shaking hands through her red hair. Lily feels her hair slacken, feels Petunia's fingers brushing through it. To her surprise, Petunia is gentle, and Lily remembers—once upon a time when they were just children, before magic and bitterness—when Petunia would brush and plait her hair every night for her.

Slowly, Lily turns to look over her shoulder. She finds her sister biting her lip, face puffed up as if she's been crying. But Lily knows better than to think she has been; Petunia has impeccable control over her true feelings. Lily, on the other hand, has never been able to properly steel herself, and maybe it's a sign of just how opposite they are that her green eyes grow wet.

"You were almost raped," Petunia says softly, the single quiver of her voice betraying her.

"I know, and you swore you'd never tell a soul."

"You'd be stupid enough to go back to that freak school?"

Lily sniffs. "Why do you care?"

Petunia rails on her. "Because you are my sister!"

Jerking free of Petunia's hold, Lily turns to face her. And what has become of them? They can hardly stand one another anymore. Once they were inseparable. Now they do things to purposefully annoy or hurt one another when they long ago swore they'd be the very best of friends forever.

As Lily looks at Petunia now, she sees a grown woman for perhaps the first time in her life—a woman hardened, prejudiced, and desperate for mediocrity. But this woman—despite all her shortcomings—is still her sister, her other half. And Lily can't help but keep on caring for her.

"I love you," Lily says, her voice cracking.

She knows what this is. For them, this is goodbye. This is the point in the path that they have to go in very different directions, no longer watching each other through the thicket as they walk parallel roads. And Lily hates it, wonders if seventeen is too old to throw a tantrum. To scream and kick and thrash because life isn't fair.

Petunia grabs hold of Lily's shoulders and shakes her. "If you love me then you won't go back to that school. _Please_, Lily."

"I have to go back."

"No, you don't." She pushes Lily's hair behind her ear, a tender gesture that Lily hasn't felt in years. "You can be normal again. I promise. We can be proper sisters like we used to be."

The desperation in Petunia's voice makes her heart splinter and threaten to shatter altogether. She's reminded of the day before her first trip to King's Cross, of Petunia locking the two of them in her bedroom and refusing to open the door to their parents. Her sister had been in absolute tears that day, crying and gasping and clinging to her, begging her not to go. Lily hasn't felt the kindness of that sister in a long while, but she can see the echoes of that girl now, in this moment.

"I'm so sorry, Tuney," Lily says, mouth pulling into a frown because she truly means it.

"You're going to get yourself killed! And maybe if you're lucky it'll be quick, but I wouldn't hold my breath!" Petunia pushes her away, expression morphing into one of disgust. "And for what? Some boy?"

"This has nothing to do with James!"

"What's he done? Promised you something? He's a freak, Lily. An arrogant, self-entitled _freak_. You can do better than _him_."

"He's so much more than that. He's loyal and generous and—"

"And worth more to you than I am."

Lily shakes her head, frantic. "No, not at all. Tuney, I'm not going back because of James. I'm not choosing anyone over you, please—"

"You're a stupid cow, Lily." And for the first time, Petunia wipes her eyes. "Maybe I was mistaken. I don't have a sister."

It paralyzes Lily in a way that nothing Petunia has said before ever has. Because no matter what, they've always had this bond. They may not like it, but they share the same blood. And neither of them—despite years of arguments—has ever thrown down that glove, has ever said those five, soul-crushing words until now.

Lily barely registers Petunia leaving her room. She covers her mouth in stunned silence. For a fleeting moment, she thinks that Petunia didn't really mean it, that it was just said in anger. But she knows her sister—knows how much she values family despite being a toad at times—and Petunia would have had to have snapped to say something like that.

And in her own way, Lily supposes she's snapped too because she goes running out of her room, down the corridor just in time to see Petunia's bedroom door shut. Grabbing the handle, she struggles to twist the door open, but her sister has locked her out. Desperate, Lily begins to pound on the door with her fists.

"You take it back!" Lily shouts, blinking back her tears. "You take that back, Petunia!"

She screams, kicks the door, rousing her father from her parents' bedroom. Having been caught in the middle of these arguments for the past six years, he reacts about as calmly as any father can when he has one daughter shouting in the corridor and the other locked away. He pulls Lily away from the door and into a tight embrace.

"Lily, that's enough."

Lily struggles to get free, pushes against his broad frame to get back to the door. She fails, though, and starts to cry on his shoulder. He pats her on her back as she relieves herself of the stresses and fears she's been bottling up since she'd returned home, of the pain that cleaved her heart in two when she realized she'd lost her only sister.

And Lily feels like she's six years old again when she whimpers, "Dad, make her take it back."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Arriving at King's Cross is altogether different this time, Lily's mind taxed with her goodbye to Petunia this morning. Instead of their normal, snotty exchanges at breakfast, Petunia had gone into work early, thereby refusing Lily altogether. And she would have rather been called all the terrible things in the world than to have sat across from Petunia's empty chair that morning. Somehow, it had hurt worse than anything else Petunia could have done to her.

When her father pulls her trunk from the boot of the car, she takes it from him quickly and immediately hugs her mum. Lily pecks her cheek and turns to do the same to her dad when her mum stops her with a touch on the arm.

"Don't you want us to see you in, dear?" her mum asks.

Lily shakes her head. "I'll be fine."

She tries to put on her best smile to assure her mother that nothing is wrong, that this isn't the most difficult trip to Platform 9 ¾ yet. Since she woke up this morning, she's been on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she thinks. Her entire body tense, her head still throbbing despite the medicine she took. And after her parents leave, Lily thinks it will get better. She'll work through her sadness when she has some time alone, her fears that she might never see them again but already knowing she doesn't belong to them anymore. She'll be alright after she gets to the platform and can focus her sights on the next hurdle to cross—being back in the wizarding world again.

"Well then," her dad begins, pulling her in for a kiss on the forehead, "have a nice term, Lils. Be sure to write home about the Quidditch matches."

She grins—her father, ever the sports fanatic even when he hardly knows a thing about it. "I will."

Then, Lily turns to her mum, who looks rather put upon at having to say her goodbyes next to the car rather than on the platform. She hugs her mum tightly once more, almost clinging to her as if it'll be the last time she'll ever be able to. And maybe it's silly of her, but she still feels safest wrapped up in her mum's arms, like the big, bad world will never be able to touch her here. Lily supposes that's why she pulls back with a watery smile.

"Promise you'll send me post," she begs.

"You know I will." Her mother fusses with her hair, pushing red locks behind Lily's shoulder. "Oh, I miss you already."

.

When Lily manages to finally slip away from her parents, it's nearing eleven o'clock. She hurries through the station to the barrier, anxious beyond reason. Anxious in a way that she's not felt in six years. Maybe it has less to do with anxiety today and more to do with simple fear. But this time these feelings are not rooted in the looming unknown. This time, she's come to confront the devil she knows all too well, lingering beneath the magic of this other world.

The platform isn't as packed as she'd anticipated, and briefly Lily wonders if it isn't because of her late arrival. It's wishful thinking, that. She knows better as she pulls her trunk along the train towards the scarlet steam engine, notices missing faces and a distinct lack of younger students. No doubt many parents thought it was too dangerous for their children to go to Hogwarts this year. Her own would have thought as much had she told them about her own horrifying experience at the end of term last year, that their daughter could have become a statistic.

Realizing that focusing on that particular night would do her no good, Lily pushes the memory from her mind. Instead, she weaves through huddles of families—their faces long and eyes worried—until she arrives at one of the doors to the Express near the prefects' carriage.

She nearly has one foot on the steps when she spots him across the platform. Immediately, Lily draws back, green eyes lingering on him for several long moments. And her heart gives a flutter when she processes the fact that James is very much alive and well, that the reason he hadn't returned her letters had nothing to do with him or his health and likely everything to do with her.

The idea stings, but nothing more. Lily can't nurse her wounded pride, not when she can feast her eyes on him—alive and well. Or as well as anyone can be these days. Just as long as he's alright, she'll manage just fine.

Probably for the first time, she takes an interest in the man and woman standing next to him. Lily remembers James telling her that his parents were much older than most of their peers'. Sadly, it looked it. The man she assumes is his father stands with a cane, appearing to rely heavily on it judging from his posture. Mrs. Potter stands next to James—and cuts a far more imposing figure than her husband—with her arm wound through his, her hand resting on his arm with motherly affection.

Just as Lily is compelled forward—longing to meet these two people who brought James into this world—she stops. James' father has doubled over, coughing into what looks like a handkerchief. James and his mother move to his side, and Lily is too far away to make out much else. She can see James' concern in his movements as he jumps to his father's side, supporting his father's weak frame. It's so obvious, even from where she stands, that James feels so very much for his father.

At times it still surprises her how deeply James cares for those he's let into his heart. Not that it _should_, given the number of times he's shown it to her. And _his_caring is probably why she feels as deeply for him as she does. Qualifying what "deeply" means, however, seems rather impossible for her. She's afraid of the answer, worried that she's allowing her heart to portray James as some white knight come to her rescue that night last term. And while she would never begrudge him the kindness that he showed her after she'd been attacked, the thought has crossed her mind—especially since he had stopped writing her altogether—that she was making more of it than he was. And sometimes…well, sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. And wanting more is just wanting more. Nothing has to come of it.

So Lily turns and steps onto the Express without looking back.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

By the end of the prefect's meeting, Lily is a mess but doesn't dare crack under the watchful gaze of her prefects or the strangely distant James. They need a leader, and Dumbledore apparently thought that she has what it takes. She doesn't want to disappoint him, disappoint _anyone_, which is why she smiles and swallows an onslaught of tears. It's only after she finds an empty compartment—not that they're particularly hard to come by this year—that she drops into a seat and brings her knees to her chest, resting her head against them.

And Lily thought—with a little time to adjust to being back—she was going to be fine today. And she _would_have been fine, too, if it hadn't been for the absence of Ian Callaghan from the prefects' meeting, for all the rumors circulating around him.

She'd overheard a Hufflepuff say he'd died over the summer. Her chest aches at the idea of it. Because they had been in Muggle Studies together since third year, because he was the first boy to ever tell her she was beautiful. And they'd dated. And the things…_thing_…she'd shared with him is something she'll never be able to share with anyone else for as long as she lives. He was special to her in that way, and Lily—while not in love with him—had carved a little piece of her heart out to him, to what they'd shared on some cold winter's night in an unused classroom.

So the thought of him dead tears at her insides. She feels so very weak for the pinpricks in her eyes, for the wetness smudging her cosmetics. Lily had braced herself for this after seeing Diagon Alley, had known that there would be people from school that she would never see again. However, the fact that the first person she'd lost had been a part of her past had broken down her carefully put up walls. Because she remembers the way he smiled, the feel of his hands, the way he held her still-girlish body in his arms. And now that's all she'll ever have—memories.

A rap on the door has her wiping her waterlogged eyes, sniffing back her tears. Lily never makes it out of the seat before the door slides open and in slips James. Not expecting him, his sudden appearance takes her by surprise. She wishes his presence would bring her some sort of peace of mind, some comfort, but Lily doesn't expect it to, especially considering his cold demeanor during the meeting. There are things in this world that a boy—no matter how much you feel for him—can never remedy. And this is just one of those things.

Without even being invited to, James sits right beside her. Lily struggles to think of something to say—an excuse for her tears, maybe, or anything that might relieve the tension in her chest. But she shouldn't have even bothered because James—without being asked, as if he's somehow attune to her—wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her against him.

They linger there, unmoving, for pregnant moments. And there's nothing between them, nothing romantic or even sensual about the embrace. Lily doesn't think there can be, not when she's a wreck like this, not when death looms between them. But she's grateful for the hug all the same, for a chance to feel that once familiar warmth and to show her weakness to a man who has seen her at her worst and will hopefully not judge her for this.

Lily thinks she feels his lips pressing against her temple, but the movement is so light that it's difficult to tell. And then she hears him, voice deep and steady, "He's not dead."

She shifts, pulls away from him to look up into his shadowed face. "He's not?"

"No, just his parents."

He says it as if it's some sort of consolation, but it's not. Maybe he'd meant it that way, or maybe he hadn't. It's difficult to tell with the blind drawn on the small compartment window, shrouding them in light so low that it's difficult to discern his expression when she tries.

"Where is he then?"

"York."

"But why isn't he _here_?"

"Lily, his parents are dead. The Callaghans had more children than they bloody well knew what to do with—"

"_Five_, James. Ian and three little boys and one little girl," she corrects, temper flaring.

"Yeah, somebody had to take care of them, and that lot fell to Callaghan. If he came back, Merlin only knows where the kids would have ended up."

She doesn't like the almost judgmental tone in James' voice, as if he blamed Ian and his parents for their predicament. The urge to call him a self-entitled, pampered arsehole doesn't escape her, but saying those sorts of things never got her far with him. So instead, Lily resorts to something she does know will work, namely shrugging out of his arms, despite how nice they'd felt.

"How did you know about that? And when did the Callaghans die?"

"There was a Death Eater attack in York in late July. The Prophet did a write up on it, and I asked around after I'd heard the news." And then James adds, a bit more pained, "I know he meant something to you."

"Why didn't you write? All those letters and you never thought to tell me?" she asks, though it comes out more like a hysterical screech.

"You had decided you weren't coming back to Hogwarts by that time. Lily, I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that. You were in a good place."

In a good place? She would have hardly called her state of mind anywhere near good. Maybe she'd put on a more convincing show than she'd thought over their brief summer visit. She hates him a little bit for not seeing past her false smiles that day, or maybe he _had_seen past it and just didn't want to say anything. Maybe he thought she was better living the rest of her life as a Muggle.

Lily resents that attitude. He might not have even felt that way, but in that moment, she could not care less. Her insecurities getting the best of her, she wonders if he hadn't wanted her gone in the first place. Maybe that's why he stopped writing. Maybe he was going to pull another I-just-want-to-be-friends excuse on her. Maybe he'd find another Georgiana.

"So you're not happy to see me?" Lily asks slowly, swallowing hard and closing her eyes.

"No," he says evenly, and she catches something else in his voice but can't bring herself to care. "I wish you hadn't come back."

Before Lily knows what she's done, she smacks him hard across the cheek. He immediately brings his hand to there and moves his jaw as if it will somehow alleviate the pain.

"Forget you, James," she hisses as she stands to rush out the door.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

In the alcove of their dormitory window, Lily waits. She's _been_ waiting for hours, willing Athene into existence. Since James first took notice of her in fourth year, he's been sending her an owl on the first day of term. And for years she's been tearing them up or returning them to him with some sort of witty denial of his oft requested date to Hogsmeade. Now, she longs for it, for _him_in a way. Longs to be able to take back what happened on the train.

She's sure in that stupid head of his he thought he was being noble about keeping the information from her. But he always _had_thought that of most of his actions, regardless who was hurt in the process. And Lily? She aches in a way that she never has before. With every empty seat. With every word of loss. With every thought of how helpless she truly is in this.

And now James—the one sodding _constant_in her life—has changed the rules on her in mid-game. He doesn't want to see her. He doesn't want to ask her out. And she doesn't even know what that hug was in the compartment. Platonic, obviously. For all she knows, maybe it was a goodbye too. Well, she supposes she gave him her own parting gift, a cheek still burning red at dinner. Lily wonders why he didn't spell it away.

"—isn't coming, Lily."

Breathing in a shaky breath, she turns towards Mary, sitting on her bed. "Sorry?"

"I said that it looks like James' owl isn't coming tonight."

All Lily can manage is a shrug, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "Guess not."

"He's been out of sorts all day. He even bumped into me on the platform this morning and _apologized_."

"James isn't above apologizing," Lily retorts.

"Mary," Jane says warningly, looking up from her trunk, "enough about Potter, even if he's surprisingly out of form."

"You sorry excuse for witches!" Annalise barks from where she stands in the doorway, coming from their ensuite bath. "You have real_bollocks_talking about him like that."

Perhaps for the first time in all the years she's known Annalise, Lily sees a general sense of outrage coming from the girl. To say that it's strange and takes her aback is an understatement. Annalise is known for many things, but that mostly consists of untactful commentary, nattering on about boys, and deep expressions of concern about her appearance. Never has she come to anyone's defense, save for the occasional wizarding celebrity getting chewed out in Madam Hemera's fashion column in _Witch Weekly_. Immediately, Lily wonders what's happened to _her_over the summer.

Mary rolls her eyes. "We know you fancy the pants off him, Annalise, but—"

"This has nothing to do with fancying him! He's been through a lot this month, and I'd thought you lot would have the common _decency_to keep your ugly gobs shut!"

The dormitory falls into stunned silence. Lily's eyes follow Annalise as she walks to her bed, sheds her towel, and throws on her nightgown. She doesn't even know how to begin to process what she's heard. After everything they'd gone through last year, Lily thought that they were at a point where they could tell each other anything. So the fact that James hadn't felt confident that he could confide in her about this—no matter how serious it was—leaves her a little heartbroken.

Jane clears her throat. "What's wrong with Potter?"

"Don't you read the _Prophet_?" Annalise asks bitterly, rounding on her. "Two weeks ago James' cousin was found murdered in her own home. So you'll forgive him for being…what was it…'out of form'?"

His cousin? Murdered?

Lily thinks she hasn't heard Annalise correctly, wants to ask her if she's certain or scold her for spreading terrible rumors like that. But, she can't. She's too paralyzed with shock to open her mouth, let alone form the actual words.

Deep down—even if she doesn't _want_ to believe it—Lily understands that this is the piece of the puzzle that she never knew was missing. His actions…they made so much more sense to her now—his distance, his behaving out of character, his words to her. Looking back on the last two weeks, everything becomes so clear. _This_ is why he'd stopped writing her. Tragedy, and she'd _assumed_—self-centeredly—that it had something to do with her, with them.

When it occurs to her how she'd treated him earlier, Lily feels pinpricks in her eyes. He'd just _lost_someone, and she'd thought the worst of him, misinterpreted his words. Of course James wouldn't want her back here.

She'd hit him for it, for _caring_about her.

And suddenly, Lily is overcome with shame, and regret.


End file.
